A plain building on Rechov Levinsky in Tel Aviv houses an
organization called Concentration Camp Survivors from Greece.
Moshe Helyon receives us in his simply furnished office. Yet
the Spartan surroundings belie Mr. Helyon's lively spirit. At
the age of 78 he is still energetic and creative. Hanging on
the walls of his office are huge pictures chronicling the
Jewish community that was destroyed. "Within a matter of
months," says Mr. Helyon painfully, "this glorious
kehilloh that existed for two thousand years was wiped
out."

The Holocaust in Greece? Few people know the country was
involved. Yet 60 years after the first train left Greece
packed with Jews destined for the death camps, Helyon tries
to document the experiences of those who were spared from the
Nazi inferno, presenting his own life story as an example.

*

The general public is wholly unaware of the tragic history of
the Salonika community. Reviving the memories is not easy. I
was also among those who avoided speaking about it for years.
But since I was selected as a board member of the
Concentration Camp Survivors from Greece in Israel, my
willingness to appear and deliver lectures on the Holocaust
has increased. With my children, I have also opened the lid
over my heart. Ever since then I have been undergoing a
fundamental change.

In Salonika, where I was born, there was a Jewish majority
for about 400 years, and for about 200 years, from the 1600s
to the 1800s, it was home to the largest Jewish community in
the world. The city was a place of rooted, enervated,
organized Jewish life, earning Salonika the title of "the
Jerusalem of the Balkans" and "a Jewish metropolis."

The German army entered Salonika in '41 just before Pesach,
which fell on Shabbat that year. My father died during
Chol Hamoed and a proper levaya could not be
held. Fear prevailed in the captured city. Nobody followed
behind the wagon carrying his aron. A handful of
family members and friends, barely a minyan, went with
me to the cemetery by trolley. We said the prayers quickly
and rushed home.

Later, when I was subjected to horrors and suffering, I was
comforted by the thought that although my father had passed
away at the age of just 40, at least he merited a Jewish
burial. Yet my father remained buried for only a short time.
The Germans completely destroyed the Jewish cemetery of
Salonika with its hundreds of thousands of graves. One
hundred thousand gravestones were shattered in an uncommon
display of fanaticism.

On Shabbos, July 11, 1942, the German administrator of
Salonika issued an order: All the Jews between the ages of 18
and 45 were to report to Liberty Square for registration. A
terrible threat was made against those who failed to comply
with his order. I was not among the thousands who reported
there because of my young age.

Within just a few hours, hair-raising reports of the Germans'
abusive treatment of the Jews began to circulate. The crowd
was kept in the blazing sun for hours. They were forbidden to
drink, sit on the ground, cover their heads or wear glasses.
Many of them fainted. They were forced to do difficult
"calisthenics exercises," cruel blows fell on those who were
unable to continue and dogs were set on them for no apparent
reason. During the period following the registration, many of
them were sent to difficult, forced labor outside of
Salonika, and were provided scanty rations. Many of them
contracted serious diseases and perished.

Now the Germans demanded that the community heads pay a
ransom of 3.5 billion drachmas. The ransom was paid in part
by handing over the Jewish cemetery to the Germans, which
eventually resulted in the devastation mentioned above. In
February 1943, the Germans published the race laws that would
apply to the Jews of Salonika, including a threat of death to
anyone who altered them. The orders caused great fear but the
Germans took pains to allay concerns, through various means.
For example, heads of the community appointed to lead us
disseminated, perhaps without their knowledge, empty
"guarantees" that we would not be harmed. Nobody considered
the possibility of annihilation.

The community members moved into ghettos designated for them
and lived in crowded, intolerable conditions. Rumors spread
that we were about to be transported to Poland, to the area
of Cracow. They gave us the impression that a Jewish
autonomous region of some sort had been set up there, where
normal life was conducted. That seemed logical to us then.
The Germans claimed the Jews were a hostile element to them
and because of the war they had to be concentrated in a
single place. Few among us, if any, asked why they did not
gather us somewhere in Greece itself, which was far away from
the main German front. Why Poland?

Trying to Pacify the Public

The first transport of Jews from Salonika left on March 15,
1943. Nearly 3,000 people, including entire families spanning
several generations, were loaded onto cattle cars and packed
in, 100 per car. Two days later another transport set out
under similar conditions. When they learned of the conditions
on the trains, the Jews of the city raised a great outcry and
directed it to the rav of the kehilloh.

In an effort to calm spirits, the rav called a gathering at
the beit knesset. He and his entourage took their
places at the bimah before the aron kodesh, and
after tefillat arvit the rav stood up to speak to the
packed crowd. Just then voices rose up. "How could children,
babies, elderly people, the sick and the handicapped be
packed into cattle cars?"

Others expressed opposition to the transports themselves. The
rav tried to calm the crowd but he had no answers to most of
the questions that were bothering everyone. Weeping and cries
of helplessness were heard from every direction. The
bodyguards hurriedly whisked the rav and his escorts out a
side door.

Every few days a transport would depart for Poland. Now we
were totally forbidden to leave the ghetto. Our family began
to gather together and pack the items we were supposed to
take along to Poland--winter clothing, bedding, books, etc.,
being careful not to exceed the permitted load of 20
kilograms per person, if I remember correctly. We took a sum
of money to be exchanged for Polish zlotys. We also took a
few steps to safeguard some of our property and other items
of value that we would be leaving behind.

On April 5, 1943 we were scheduled to move to a special
ghetto that housed the Jews designated to join the transports
to Poland. We were seized with panic. Grandfather managed to
obtain a wagon. A few of the non-Jewish neighbors parted with
us sorrowfully, expressing hope we would return and see one
another soon. My sense was that after a short time we would
be back home.

We loaded our possessions onto the horse-drawn wagon and set
out, proceeding slowly, the whole family strung out behind
the wagon. Along the way, we met other Jews making their way
to this ghetto, some with wagons and some carrying their
belongings on their shoulders. At the entrance to the ghetto,
we saw the place was in a state of chaos. New arrivals were
roaming through the streets, where melee and shouting
predominated, seeking a place to settle in. We found a small,
vacant house and my uncle went to bring the rest of the
family. We put the bundles on the floor, laid out blankets
and took a short nap.

While my mother set about cleaning and arranging the house as
best she could, my uncle and I went out into the streets. The
ghetto consisted of dilapidated one-story houses, some of
them on the verge of collapse, metal shacks, a locked beit
knesset. We came to one of the edges of the ghetto, where
a high fence prevented anyone from entering or leaving, but a
hole in the fence indicated that there were some who slipped
out.

Returning to our new home we sat down on the floor to eat
what we had brought along: bread, canned food and fresh
vegetables. It was early in April and night fell quite early.
Kerosene lanterns spread a faint light around the room. My
uncle disappeared for a few hours. Upon his return, he said
he had left the ghetto through one of the holes in the fence
and met a Christian peddler who gave him fruits and
vegetables and arranged to come to the fence the next day
with other foodstuffs. My mother warned him not to dare set
foot outside the ghetto again. During the short time we had
been there, we had already heard stories of heavy punishments
imposed on those who were caught leaving.

The next morning, the adults in the family complained they
did not get a wink of sleep all night long and that their
bodies ached. Right away, they formed the opinion that we
should make our stay in the ghetto as short as possible and
head for Poland. Why continue this torment in the ghetto?

We had no doubt that the situation in Poland would be less
difficult. We were aware of the insufferable conditions on
the freight trains to Poland, but this was seen as another
reason to hurry up and get this difficult period behind us,
in the hopes the future would be easier and more comfortable.
When we learned a transport was scheduled to depart for
Poland within a day or two, we were sure we wanted to join
it, although it would have been possible to evade it for a
while.

Hopes for a Better Future in Poland

The next transport bound for Poland left on April 7, 1943,
two days after our arrival in the ghetto. We joined it. A
long line of people was marching toward the platform. We
pressed forward. A locomotive was pulling a line of cars used
to transport horses and cattle. The Germans shouted and
forced us to board the cars quickly. It wasn't easy.
Everybody tossed their belongings onto the floor of the car.
Those who were able, quickly climbed onto the car to find a
good spot. Shouts and noise and children crying prevailed
everywhere. About 90 people boarded the car.

The crowding was extreme. It was impossible to move without
stepping on someone or something. Once the car was full, the
Germans shut the doors and latched them. A four-inch-wide
space between the door and the wall of the car and two barred
windows on either end were the only opening to the outside
world. Our family found a place next to the door. We sat down
on our bundles. The train rolled out slowly. Silence
prevailed inside the car for a short period. The train picked
up speed. I had never ridden on a train before and my eyes
could not take in enough of the view through the vertical
opening next to the door. Gradually my attention was diverted
to events inside the car. People talked with one another,
babies and children cried, mothers tried to comfort them, the
sick groaned with pain, the handicapped complained that they
could not stretch out their arms and legs. The train ride
went on and on. Based on the names of the towns and stations
I could tell we were already passing through Yugoslavia.

Toward evening, when the train stopped near one of the
stations, the German soldiers escorting us organized guard
shifts around the cars. Only once every two days would the
train stop, at a distance from a settled area. The doors
would slide open and we would get out to stretch our legs in
the open field, with the soldiers posted around us.

The days and nights passed quickly. The journey had already
lasted nearly a week and the situation in the car was
becoming difficult. People grew more and more agitated and
short-tempered. Although we were permitted to stock up on
water during the stops, the taps were few and everybody
descended on them at once so that few people had a chance to
get water, and their thirst began to bother them. Meanwhile
food supplies were running low. People who had consumed
everything they brought along had to rely on others who were
not always able to help. We were eager to finally arrive at
our destination. We did not know the exact route of the
journey, but we could tell we had left Czechoslovakia.

Wherever there were people along the way, they would stand
and gaze at our train, as if seeing a bizarre sight. On the
morning of the seventh day of the journey, a rumor spread
that we would soon be arriving in Cracow. Feverish
preparations for our arrival began. All of us anticipated a
better future in Poland.

Who will Live and Who will Die...

A few hours before midnight the train stopped. The doors slid
open. Powerful lights illuminated an open field where we saw
numerous German officers and soldiers carrying guns. They
were SS soldiers. Some of them had dogs. Further away, a line
of vehicles, mostly trucks, could be seen. Yet our attention
was drawn to unusual looking people engaged in various types
of labor. They wore pants, jacket and cap with blue stripes
on a light gray background. Were they prisoners? This sight
came as a big surprise to me, and to the rest of the people
on the transport, I'm sure. It was a strange sight, but we
were not given much time to speculate.

The passengers, calling out the names of their relatives, got
down from the cars, each of them carrying some of the
family's belongings. My uncle Yitzchok and I helped our
relatives down from the car and then we tried to ascertain
where we were and what was going to happen. Questions were
directed in different languages at the people with the
strange striped clothing, but they did not reply. The Germans
ran around shouting and sometimes striking people to get them
out of the cars quickly. The chaos was terrible.

At a certain point, instructions began to issue forth from
the loudspeakers, in a language we could understand, telling
us to leave our belongings near the cars and walk toward the
coordinating point. Later, we were told we would be brought
to the designated place of residence and all of our
belongings would be brought there, including what we had left
in the cars. My whole family walked together toward the spot
indicated. I'm not sure whether or not at the time anyone
considered the question of how we would be able to find our
belongings among those of the thousands of people on the
train. I noticed that the people in the striped clothes began
to unload the bundles from the cars.

As we proceeded toward the coordinating area, an order was
given to divide into four groups. The first, elderly and
disabled men limited in their ability to perform labor and
walk; the second, young, able-bodied men; the third, elderly
women and women with children; and the fourth, the rest of
the women. The groups of older men and women, we were told,
would be transported to their destination in vehicles while
the other two groups would walk.

Although the explanation for separating into groups sounded
reasonable and there was no reluctance to carry it out, the
actual execution caused considerable tumult. Every family had
to quickly prepare to separate. Fathers passed children to
their wives and family members divided food supplies and
other items to split the load and to be prepared to meet
their immediate needs until they were reunited. In the
background were the voices of children who did not want to be
separated from their fathers as well as conversations among
family members exchanging final words of advice, making
various arrangements and discussing how they would meet again
later . . .

I saw a lot of indecision there. It was not easy for a young
man to abandon his father or mother, grandfather or
grandmother, after the hardships of the long journey. Or in
the case of families with numerous small children, how could
the father leave his wife to take care of all of the children
alone?

The SS bore down on such bands with shouting and pushing,
separating people and sending them off in different
directions. Many people, after joining one of the groups,
changed their minds and tried to go to another group. Some
succeeded while others were caught by the Germans and sent
back. In certain instances, when the person caught pleaded
with the SS officer unrelentingly, he was allowed to move to
another group, thus sealing his fate unknowingly.

It was obvious that my uncle and I would join the group of
young men, my grandfather would join the older men and my
grandmother, mother and aunt with her baby would join group
of older women. But whether my 16-year-old sister Nina should
stay with the other women in the family or join the younger
group remained open to debate for a short time. In the end
the first option was chosen (and later she was killed in the
gas chambers, Hy'd).

When the excitement died down, we were able to make out four
distinct groups of people. In our group were about 500 men.
We were ordered to stand in rows and then a head count was
taken. While standing in rows, we heard one of the members of
our group had spotted acquaintances from Salonika in the
striped clothes. He spoke to them and was told they had
arrived in one of the earlier transports and had been working
there. Their advice to us was to follow orders and carry them
out quickly and without resistance, to avoid punishment.

In the meantime, we were ordered to set out. Armed soldiers
surrounded us shouting, "Forward! Forward!" incessantly and
spurring us to march at a running pace. After a long walk, a
large iron gate appeared. The area all around it was lit with
powerful floodlights. As we drew closer to the gate we could
see large iron letters over the gate reading, "Arbeit
Macht Frei." With the little German I knew I was able to
make out the meaning. "Work is liberating!" We passed through
the gate. Soldiers standing on both sides counted those who
entered. We had arrived at Auschwitz.

End of Part I

A Brief History of Jewish Salonika (Thessaloniki)

In Greece, the city is known as Thessaloniki, but the Jews
knew it as Salonika.

The first Jews in Thessaloniki may have arrived from
Alexandria, Egypt, around 140 BCE, during the time of the
Second Beis Hamikdosh. However, there is no conclusive
evidence for this.

The first Greek Jew whose name is known was Moschos son of
Moschion the Jew, a slave identified in an inscription dated
to approximately 250 BCE. The inscription was unearthed in
Oropos, a small coastal town between Athens and Boeotia.

The members of the ancient Jewish Community of Thessaloniki
were called Romaniotes. They used the Greek language, while
retaining several elements of Hebrew and Aramaic, as well as
the Hebrew script. Paul, one of the early founders of
Christianity, visited this community and left the first
written record of Jewish presence in the city, just prior to
the Churban of the Second Beis Hamikdosh.

During the Roman era, the Jews of Thessaloniki had autonomy,
but after the East-West division of the Roman empire, some
Byzantine emperors imposed special taxes and restrictive
measures on religious freedom and worship. There were also a
few attempts at forced conversion but they did not much
affect the Jewish community.

The population of Thessaloniki exceeded 100,000 inhabitants
in the middle of the 12th century. In 1159, Rabbi Benjamin of
Tudela left from Saragossa, Spain, on a journey to Jewish
communities throughout the Mediterranean basin. In
Thessaloniki he wrote: "After a two-day sea voyage, we arrive
at Thessaloniki, a big coastal town, built by Selefkos, one
of Alexander's four heirs. Five hundred Jews live here,
headed by Rabbi Samuel and his sons, well known for their
scholarship. Rabbis Sabetal, Elias, and Michael also live
there as well as other exiled Jews who are specialized
artisans."

Thessaloniki suffered from the Crusaders over the coming
centuries as they waged their campaign of destruction. It was
fully conquered in the Fourth Crusade.

The first settlement of Ashkenazi Jews was in 1376. They
arrived from Hungary and Germany for the next 150 years.

A small group of Jews from Provence came in 1394, while from
1423-1430, when Venice ruled, Jews from mainland Italy and
Sicily settled there.

In the early morning hours of Sunday, March 26, 1430, the
army of Sultan Murat II appeared before the city gates,
conquering it after a siege of only three days.

The pivotal point was the settlement of 15,000-20,000 Spanish
(Sephardic) Jews after 1492, who would make a lasting and
seminal contribution to the destiny of the Jewish Community,
but also to that of the city as a whole.

End of Part I of the History

This historical account is based on material from the
Jewish Community of Thessaloniki and the Foundation for the
Advancement of Sephardic Studies and Culture. It is being
used with permission.